


Intertwined

by Verelia



Category: Overwatch (Video Game)
Genre: F/F, Past Amelie/Gerard, background: D.Va/Mountain Dew/Doritos, background: mei/Zarya, background: mercy/phara
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-05
Updated: 2016-07-29
Packaged: 2018-07-12 12:05:58
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 6
Words: 5,497
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7102564
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Verelia/pseuds/Verelia
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>After Gerard Lacroix's death, his wife, Amelie, went missing.  When the newly-reformed Overwatch captures a mysterious Talon agent called "Widowmaker", Tracer is determined to find the truth, with the help of her fellow heroes.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

“So, uh… Why's your skin blue?”

 

_ Dammit, Lena, _ she berated herself mentally,  _ you can't just ask someone why they're blue! _

 

If the question annoyed her, “Widowmaker” showed no sign of it.  There was a hint of amusement in her eyes as she answered the question with yet another question.  “Are you attempting to interrogate me?”

 

Tracer couldn't help but laugh at that.  “Not even close.  Just curious.  Seems like it would make blending in pretty difficult.”

 

“I have no need of camouflage.  I only need a target.”

 

Tracer frowned, glad that there was a barrier separating them.  Symmetra had assured her that it was impenetrable, but, having seen what the assassin was capable of, she couldn't quite get rid of her nerves.  

 

Luckily, Zarya bursting into the room saved her the trouble of coming up with a response.  

 

“Oi, sorry for the wait!” she said with a smile.  “Mei needed my help with something.  I can take over from here.”  She nodded at the makeshift cell.  

 

“Thanks, love!” Tracer replied, with more cheerfulness than she felt.  “I'll see you later, then.  I want to see if I left anything in my locker.”

 

“Best of luck!”  Zarya saw her off with a wave before turning back to the prisoner.  

 

“Adieu.”  

 

The assassin’s smooth voice was unnervingly casual.  It took all of Tracer’s self control to quicken her pace and continue walking as if she hadn't heard.


	2. Chapter 2

The old watchpoint at Gibraltar wasn't all that large, but it was awhile before Tracer got to her locker.  She found herself slowing her pace as she walked down familiar hallways, reminiscing on a different time.  She had been away for only a few years, but now it felt like another life entirely.

 

When she reached the lockers, she was greeted with particularly unwelcome memories.  Next to her own was one labeled “Gérard Lacroix”, a name she hadn't seen in years.  

 

His death had been sudden - after several failed assassination attempts, Talon finally succeeded in killing the agent in the dead of night.  They had even gone so far as to take his wife, no doubt seeking any information she might have had on Overwatch.  

 

 _Cowards,_ Tracer thought bitterly. _She was only a civilian._  

 

She couldn't even remember the woman’s name.  Amy?  Amelia?  Tracer didn't have much of a temper, but Talon’s blatant disregard for innocent lives made her blood boil.  

 

 _Why is Widowmaker with them, then?_  Tracer couldn't help but wonder why such a skilled fighter chose to work with a terrorist group.  Overwatch would've taken her in a heartbeat.   _We could really use someone like her._  If it had been a few years ago, an appealing offer might have been arranged, but now, the newly reformed band of heroes barely had enough resources to survive.  Reaper had a personal vendetta against Overwatch - for obvious reasons - but as far as Tracer had seen, Widowmaker was only concerned with fulfilling her missions.

 

Before she knew it, she found herself opening Gérard’s locker.  Aside from a few weapons and articles of clothing, there didn't seem to be much, until a photograph caught her eye--

 

 _Amélie_.   _That was her name._

 

She tore the photo off the door with shaking hands.  It read “Gérard & Amélie” in flowing script, but the picture itself was what made Tracer’s heart race.

 

Even with her hair down, even with a genuine smile on her face, even with normal, rosy skin, there was no mistaking it.

 

_Widowmaker._

 


	3. Chapter 3

After stuffing the photo in her jacket pocket, Tracer hurried to find the only other Overwatch veteran who, despite the fact that it was approaching midnight, would still surely be awake.

 

“Doc?  You there?”  The lights in the old medical wing were dark, so Tracer had gone to the doctor’s room instead.  When there was no response, she started back to her own room until she heard shouting in a distinct Swiss accent down the hall.

 

“ _Please_ go to bed.”  Unsurprisingly, the sound was coming from D.Va’s room.  “What even _is_ this noxious green stuff?  It can't be good for you, Hana.”  

 

A few seconds later, Angela emerged from the room with a half-empty bottle of soda and an enormous bag of chips.  Upon seeing Tracer, despite her clear exasperation, she smiled.

 

“Lena.  Is everything alright?  You look a bit spooked.”

 

“Wait, give that b--”  The youngest member of Overwatch had come running out, too, but stopped short.  “Oh, hey, Tracer!”

 

She gave a mock salute before turning back to Angela.  “Did you get a look at the, uh, prisoner?”  

 

“No, I’m afraid n--”  As soon as she opened her mouth, Hana grabbed the bag of chips and ran for it.  Angela rolled her eyes, but there was a smile on her face nonetheless.  Tracer, however, couldn’t help but jump - the sound of the door slamming was particularly jarring, given the otherwise silent hallway - which earned her a raised eyebrow from the doctor.  “Is something wrong?  Has she escaped?”

 

“No, it’s just…  Maybe I’m seeing things.  Dunno.  But while I was looking through my locker earlier, I took a little peek in Gérard’s, and… is this really his wife?  Amélie?”

 

Angela looked at Tracer dubiously, no doubt wondering why she had felt the need to rummage through a dead man’s belongings.  Still, she took the picture with a sigh, a suddenly mournful expression on her face.  “Yes, this is him and Amelie.  I only spoke with her a few times, but she seemed kind-hearted, much like her husband.  I shudder to think at what Talon might have done to her.”  After a moment, she narrowed her eyes.  “What does this have to do with the assassin?”

 

The pilot shook her head, forcing herself to keep going.  “Did we ever find a body?”  A cold feeling of dread had settled in Tracer’s gut.  

 

“Aside from Gérard’s corpse, Talon left nothing at all.”

 

 _They left_ something _, all right._

 

After a shaky breath, Tracer made up her mind.

  
“I think you ought to see the prisoner.”


	4. Chapter 4

“She has blue skin?  Is it body paint?”

 

“No,” Tracer replied, “I don’t think so.  I asked her why, but she didn’t answer.”

 

“If it truly is Amélie… I wonder if _she_ even knows.”

 

They were running through the corridors now.  After Tracer filled her in, Angela wanted to see this woman for herself.  The doctor had gone on a few reconnaissance missions searching for the missing Amélie Lacroix, she explained, and after as many failures, she had lost hope of ever finding her.  Even if she was skeptical regarding this situation, though, she owed it to her old friend to follow every possible lead.  Overwatch always took care of its own.

 

Tracer didn't bother to knock when they reached their destination.  Instead, she rushed inside, leaving Angela running after her.  Zarya took their chaotic entrance in stride.

 

“Tracer, Doctor.”  She gave them each a nod.  “What can I do for you?”

 

The doctor in question ignored the greeting, as she was wholly transfixed by the sight of Widowmaker, who sat facing them with an unreadable expression.  Angela swore under her breath in her native tongue before turning back to Tracer with a look that asked, “What now?”

 

“Sorry about this,” Tracer began hurriedly, “but could we have some time alone with her?  It shouldn't be too long.  Just some, uh, business to take care of.”

 

_“Konechno!”_ she replied cheerfully, though she spared Angela a dubious glance.  “I'll be outside if you need me.”  The door shut behind her with a soft _thud_ , and for a moment, it was completely silent.

 

“Back already?  You must _really_ like me,” drawled the assassin, who stared pointedly at Tracer.

 

The pilot’s indignation got the best of her.  “Listen, you--”

 

“How is this possible?” Angela asked, half to herself.  Such a cold, taunting expression hardly fit the kind eyes and warm smile in the photograph, but it _had_ to be the same woman.  She could do little but stare with a mix of awe and horror.

 

“I suppose you are ‘Mercy,’ then?”  

 

That snapped the doctor out of her trance.  Gingerly, she stepped closer to the barrier, squinting, trying to pick out some sort of discrepancy.  Aside from the skin, there was nothing to distinguish this woman from Amélie Lacroix.

 

Tracer fished around in her pocket for the photograph, but hesitated to actually take it out.  As she was standing idly, wondering how to proceed, Widowmaker caught her eye once again, and she quickly looked away, hoping desperately that the doctor would have something to say.

 

Her plea was answered.

 

“Does the name Amélie mean anything to you?”

 

Widowmaker blinked once, twice, seemingly caught off guard, and then shrugged with her usual confidence - no, arrogance - that hardly befit a prisoner.  “It sounds familiar.  Perhaps she was a mark of mine?  There are so _many_ ; the names are easy to forget.”  

 

Angela curled her lip in disgust, as she always did when people spoke so casually of killing.  

 

Before she lost her nerve, Tracer approached the assassin and pulled out the photograph.  “Have you got a twin, then?”

 

As far as Tracer had seen, Widowmaker had hardly ever shown emotion, if at all - those condescending smiles never reached her eyes.  But now, something about the look of confusion on her face seemed genuine.  To her own surprise, Tracer felt a sudden pang of sympathy, despite her attempts to convince herself that it was probably all an act.  

 

The assassin stood and, without her usual effortless grace, approached the barrier.  Not once did her eyes stray from the picture.  As she walked, though, she seemed to trip on something, and fell to her knees, her hands clutching her head.  Tracer started forward to get a closer look, but a tight grip on her wrist held her back.

 

“This could be an act,” Angela hissed under her breath.  

 

_The graceful assassin, tripping on air?_  Tracer had to admit that it was unlikely. _Sounds like something I'd do._

 

But Widowmaker had further fallen to the side, and her arms shook with effort of propping herself up.  At first, Tracer thought the assassin raised her head to look at the picture again, but instead, she found widened gold eyes focused on _her_.  She hardly had time to process this before Widowmaker collapsed entirely.

 

It was hard to tear her gaze from the sprawled form on the floor, but _something_ had to be done.

 

Angela hadn't let go of her, however, and was now pointing towards the cell.

 

“Her skin, it's… worse,” she said, her voice trembling.  “What in the world has Talon done to her?”

 

“I'm getting Symmetra.  We _have_ to help her.”  

 

Angela nodded in agreement.  “Get her to medical as soon as you can.”

 

She tapped the chronal accelerator on her chest as the doctor threw open the door, and by the time Angela began to explain the situation to Zarya, she was long gone.

 

Tracer all but disappeared as she sped down the halls, trying her best - and failing - to push haunting gold eyes from her mind.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Konechno (конечно) means "of course" in Russian. Hope you're all enjoying this so far! Sorry that there's not much actual widowtracer yet, but it's coming, I promise!


	5. Chapter 5

It was half past midnight, but more and more members of Overwatch were beginning to stir.  Tracer and Symmetra, in their haste, could not afford to be quiet.  

 

“Could you get rid of the barrier, please?” Tracer asked, out of breath, as she opened the door.  Zarya gave her a nod as they passed.  “If something goes wrong, it won't be on you, I swear.”  

 

“You ask me to free a member of Talon, a known terrorist organization.  Are you sure this is wise?”  Symmetra glanced dubiously toward Widowmaker.  

 

“I don't know,” Tracer answered honestly.  To herself, she added:  _ I don't much care, either.   _ Her heart was racing again at the sight of the assassin - her skin had taken on an even deeper blue, or so it seemed.  

 

Symmetra narrowed her eyes.  The only sound was the rhythmic clicking of her nails tapping against her prosthetic arm.  Tracer felt like squirming -  _ what if she won't do it?  _ \- but finally, Symmetra raised her arm, and the barrier disappeared with an elegant wave of her shiny, artificial hand.  

 

“Thank you,” Tracer sighed as she hurriedly crossed the threshold.  Kneeling down next to Widowmaker, she reached out to touch her--

 

\--and recoiled with a high-pitched squeal.

 

Zarya came running immediately, and looked about ready to fight the unconscious assassin until Tracer shook her head.

 

“She's cold as ice.”  Her voice sounded small, and she couldn't keep it from wavering.   _ Are we too late…? _

 

At this, Zarya knelt down cautiously beside her, putting a hand on Widowmaker’s exposed skin and flinching back just as quickly.  She muttered something in Russian and gave Tracer a worried look.  “We should get her to the doctor, then.”

 

Before Tracer could answer - or attempt to help - Zarya had already effortlessly lifted the unconscious woman and turned towards the door.  There were always rumors about the heroes of Overwatch, but it seemed to Tracer like the one about Aleksandra Zaryanova lifting 500 kilos was probably true.  

 

“Right, let's go.  And thanks again, Symmetra!”  She was trying her best not to sound nervous.  To Tracer’s relief, Symmetra just yawned and walked out alongside her, seemingly unfazed.  

 

“Of course.  Tell me if you require further assistance.”  The Vishkar agent didn't wait for a response before she turned and started off towards her room.

 

Tracer followed Zarya down the halls in a daze - it seemed like an eternity before they actually reached medical.  The distinct smell of disinfectant filled the air, and they soon found the doctor next to a hospital bed, busy adjusting holographic monitors.  She looked up as they approached, frowning as she noticed Widowmaker’s worsened condition.

 

“We got here as quickly as we could,” Tracer explained, her voice trembling.  “But she seems worse, and her skin is freezing cold…”  She trailed off and looked to Angela with no small amount of desperation.  “Can you help her?”

 

The doctor nodded and motioned to the bed beside her.  As Zarya gently placed the assassin atop the thin sheets, Tracer couldn't help but notice how  _ harmless _ she looked.

 

“Thank you for your help.”  Angela’s voice was even, and she spoke without looking up - she was entirely focused on her patient.  It had been quite some time since Tracer had seen the doctor in her element like this.  She placed leads on Widowmaker’s chest with the precision one might expect from an omnic, seemingly unfazed by the icy skin.  

 

“No problem,” Zarya said with a yawn as she walked away.  “You know where to find me.”  The door closed with a quiet click, and soon enough, Zarya’s footsteps faded.  All that Tracer could hear was her heart pounding in her ears and a single beep from the heart monitor followed by silence.  

 

“It's her circulation.”  Angela’s words came with a frantic string of German - Tracer recognized a few curses.    Additional holographic screens appeared near the doctor, and as she input commands, the periods of silence between each heartbeat grew shorter and shorter.  “Or, I suppose, a lack thereof.  Her heart beats much too slowly.”

 

“I guess that explains the blue skin.”  Her words were casual, but her mind was reeling.  This new information may have answered her original question, but now a thousand more rose in its place.  How could she live like that?  What had possibly slowed down her heartbeat?  How long had it been like this?  At least she could take a decent guess for  _ who. _  “Why would Talon do this?  And… how?”

 

Unfamiliar instruments were scattered on a table beside the doctor’s staff.  Tracer recalled Angela mentioning Gibraltar’s state-of-the-art technology, and it seemed she was putting it to good use.  Already, Widowmaker’s skin had begun to lose its icy shade.  There was something comforting about watching Angela work like this - it was a familiar side of her that Tracer hadn’t seen in years.  If anyone could help Amelie Lacroix now, it was Angela Ziegler.

 

“I don’t know how, but its effects seem clear enough.”  The doctor paused, focusing on the screens nearest to her.  “A deadly assassin, with no emotion to hinder her.  With no remorse,” she added in disgust.  “Amelie was not helpless, but her combat experience amounted to little more than self-defense.  Talon is known for psychological warfare, but turning an Overwatch agent’s wife into their own weapon?  Using her to kill her husband?”  She shook her head with a sigh.

 

“Wait, what--”

 

“ _ Widowmaker _ .  She was a sleeper agent, most likely.”

 

_ Oh.   _ “That’s a nasty bit of irony.  They really will stop at nothing, huh?”  Despite her halfhearted attempt at flippancy, Tracer could feel bile rising in her throat.  

 

“Apparently so.  They captured her before Gérard’s death - when she returned, I offered to help her recover, but… she remembered nothing.  Minor physical wounds were the only evidence that she had been taken at all.  I should have considered this as a possibility.”  Angela had moved away from the equipment and stood beside the bed; she looked ready to say more, but was silenced by a gasp from her patient.

 

Amelie - Widowmaker -  _ whoever _ she was - promptly sat up and, after taking in her surroundings briefly, scowled.  “What do you think you’re doing?”  Her usual nonchalance was somewhat dampened by her short, labored breaths and the sudden spike in the heart monitor’s rhythm.  She ripped the leads from her chest and turned her glare to Angela.  “Well?”

 

The doctor was seemingly preoccupied, however; her attention was drawn to her patient’s chest - specifically, the circular marks that now had a slight reddish hue.  Widowmaker stared down at herself in confusion, but her gaze quickly hardened, and she reached for a scalpel on the cart beside Angela--

 

\--but Tracer was faster.  While the doctor stumbled backwards, Tracer had become little more than a blur, and reappeared between the two women, pushing the cart out of reach.  

 

“We’re helping you.  Or  _ trying _ to.”  Widowmaker’s glare remained; Tracer tried again.  “You collapsed, and your heart rate was dropping, and… Mercy saved you.”

 

She actually  _ laughed _ .  “She may be good, but this is beyond her ability.”  

 

“I do not give up easily,” Angela said, peeking out from behind Tracer.  “Whatever they did to you, I’m certain it can be reversed.”

 

Tracer pulled out the picture again.  “This is you, isn’t it, Amelie?  Don’t you want to--”

 

“Don’t you  _ dare _ call me that.”

 

Tracer flinched as if she’d been struck.  If she had thought Widowmaker’s lack of emotion was unnerving - terrifying - it was because she had yet to witness her fury.  She felt like squirming under the other woman’s gaze.

 

“Whoever you think I am - whoever you want me to be - it is hopeless.  You  _ should _ give up, doctor.  As many people as you have saved, I have slaughtered.  My memories do not change what I am.  The woman I  _ was  _ does not change what I am.”  Detached from medical equipment, her skin had slowly begun take on its former bluish color.  “The past will not change the present.”

 

“Do you know why you collapsed?”  Angela had all but ignored Widowmaker’s outburst.  She stood with her arms crossed, beside Tracer rather than behind her, and nodded to the holographic screens.  “You’ve got some sort of cybernetic device that's slowing your heart rate - if I could remove it--”

 

“If you want to save me so badly, bring me back to Talon.”  After a moment, she grinned.  “I’m sure Reyes would love to see you.”

 

“I’m sure he’d love having his pet assassin back even more,” Angela snapped.  In all the years Tracer had known her, Mercy had never looked so angry.   _ There’s a reason we don’t talk about Reyes anymore. _

 

Apparently satisfied that she’d struck a nerve, Widowmaker laid back down.  “You only want to save Amélie Lacroix.  Trust me, doctor; she is dead.  After what happened with Reyes, do you really want to go through the trouble?”

 

Tracer cut in before Angela could.  “ _ I  _ want to save  _ you _ .”  The words were out of her mouth before she could stop herself.   _ No going back on it now. _  She was shaking, but forced herself to continue.  “Whatever you are - I don't care if you're  _ her _ , or Widowmaker, or something else.  It doesn't matter.”  

 

The assassin raised an eyebrow, turning her head lazily in Tracer’s direction.  “And what will you expect in return?  There's always something.”

 

“Nothing.  Just give us a chance.   _ Please _ .”  

 

Mercy turned to her incredulously, but she just shrugged.  Even if this woman wasn't Amélie anymore, even if she could never be Amélie again, she was still worth helping.  She  _ had  _ to be.  Tracer was stubborn, and she wouldn't rest until they had done everything they could.  Sending Widowmaker back to Talon - even if she wanted to return - seemed cruel, and that was without considering that they'd be bringing back one of their enemy’s most valuable agents.  The fact remained that Talon had tortured this woman, one way or another, and forced her to work for them.  After spending so much time with the enemy, it wouldn't have surprised Tracer if Talon tortured her  _ again _ just to ensure that their previous work - damage, more like - had not been undone.  It's not as if Tracer thought she knew what was best for her - she just clung to the notion that there had to be something  _ better.   _

 

“Very well, Tracer,” Widowmaker drawled, sending a shiver down Tracer’s spine.  “If you and Mercy think you can save me, you're welcome to try.”  

 

“Thank you,” Tracer said with genuine relief, and Angela responded in kind.

  
“Foolish girl,” Widowmaker sighed.  She shook her head, a mirthless grin on her face, before laying her head back on her pillow and closing her eyes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Sorry it took so long to update. This chapter ended up being about as long as the entire rest of the fic, oops. Apologies for the lack of consistency in both update times and chapter lengths.


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I'm sorry that this took so long. And, just when I thought I had written the longest chapter in chapter 5... I wrote something longer. Sorry about that. I hope you enjoy, and thanks for reading!
> 
> (side note: I love getting new information about the Overwatch characters, but, oh my gosh, every time we get new Widowmaker information I freak out and start reevaluating everything I've written about her / second-guess my characterization of her even more than I normally would, which is probably one of the reasons this took so long, with the Ana reveal/comic and all.)

 

“I am a doctor before I am anything else; the identity of this woman is irrelevant.  Rest assured, I will do my best to help her.”

 

The doctor’s words echoed in Tracer’s mind as she paced aimlessly in the corridor.  Disturbing Angela in the middle of a surgery was out of the question, so she wasn't quite sure what to do with herself.  Her body yearned for sleep, but returning to her room - and her warm, comfortable, bed, she thought wistfully - was simply out of the question.  Tracer was absolutely determined to be present the moment Angela left the operating room.  

 

In her dazed state, she nearly didn't notice Pharah walking towards her, rubbing sleep out of her eyes and yawning.  

 

Tracer answered; she knew what the other woman was going to ask.  “She’s in a surgery.  Not sure when she'll be done.”

 

“Is someone injured?”  The fatigue in Pharah’s eyes had been replaced with worry.  

 

“No--well, yes, but…”  She wasn't quite sure how to answer.   _ It's no one you care about. _

 

“That Talon woman?”  Tracer was surprised to find so much bitterness in the other woman’s voice, and as she nodded, Pharah’s expression turned even more sour.

 

“Jack said it was a Talon sniper that cost them the mission all those years ago.  The one with my mother.”

 

_ Shit.  No, it can't be. _  Tracer shrugged casually - at least, she hoped it looked casual, because a heavy feeling of dread had settled in her gut.  “I'm sure they've got a bunch of snipers.  Probably nothing to worry about.”  

 

Pharah nodded, her expression unreadable.  “Right.  If you're still here when Angela is done, tell her to come find me.”

 

“Of course!” Tracer replied, but Pharah was already walking away, the hollow sound of metal footsteps fading slowly into silence.

 

Tracer sat against a wall, her mind filled with memories of Ana Amari.   _ Where did you go, Captain? _  Widowmaker was good, sure, but Tracer couldn't imagine her defeating Ana at her own game.  She couldn't imagine  _ anyone _ defeating Ana.  

 

Then again, this day had been full of impossible things.

 

Amélie Lacroix was alive, technically, and had been turned into a superhuman sniper, a living - but apparently not breathing - weapon.  And while she seemed to recall her past identity, she didn't appear to have any intentions of reclaiming it.  Her fury at the mention of her old name still confused Tracer, though.   _ I can't tell where Amélie ends and Widowmaker begins.   _

 

Her adrenaline gone, she slumped against the cold metal wall as exhaustion finally began to take its toll.

 

_ Maybe she can't tell, either. _

 

Tracer might have pondered this longer, but she could hardly manage to keep her eyes open, and soon enough, she had drifted off to much-needed sleep.  

  
  
  
  
  


The horizon gave off a dull reddish glow, trimmed with the first hint of dawn, when Tracer finally woke.  A blanket had been placed around her shoulders - Angela’s doing, no doubt.  She couldn't have slept more than a few hours, but her limbs ached from her awkward position all the same.  With a yawn, Tracer rose to her feet and shuffled to Angela’s door.

 

She knocked quietly, with no response.  “Hey, thanks for the blanket, doc,” she said.  “I--”

 

“ _Salut,_ _chérie._ ”

 

Alright.  Not the Swiss doctor.  

 

Tracer found herself opening the door anyway.  For a moment, she considered that it might be an ambush - her mind painted a horrifying picture of Angela’s body growing cold as the Talon agent readied her rifle for a killing blow - but as soon as she saw Widowmaker, that scenario became laughable.

 

She had been propped up with several pillows, and from the waist down she was covered by a blanket.  A small square of gauze had been taped to her hand where the IV had clearly been.  The shiny, form fitting gear that Tracer had become a bit too familiar with had been traded for a hospital gown that hung loosely off the assassin’s frame.  It was no surprise that Doctor Ziegler would stick to standard regulations, even considering her patient’s affiliations, but somehow Tracer hadn't expected to see Widowmaker like this.  She looked small - vulnerable, even.  Of course, nothing was more shocking than her skin.

 

That unnerving blue color had given way to a stark pallor.  She still could have been mistaken for a corpse, but it was unquestionably an improvement.  Her lips and cheeks even seemed to be tinged with red.  Before Tracer could look too closely, however, the other woman turned away.

 

“Satisfied?”  Widowmaker had retained her usual mocking tone, though her voice sounded raspier than usual.

 

She made her way to a chair beside the bed, never taking her eyes off Widowmaker.  “How are you feeling?”  

 

“Why do you care?”

 

Tracer was tempted to respond with another question; instead, she crossed her arms and waited.

 

Widowmaker broke the silence with a sigh.  “Physically?  There is pain, but it is unexpectedly mild.  Seems your doctor is rather skilled.”  

 

“And… Mentally?”

 

“Talon likely implanted that device with no intention to remove it… I am surprised it did not kill me.”  Widowmaker turned back to face Tracer with a silent glare and tear-stained cheeks. “I wish it did."

 

Tracer shook her head in bewilderment.  “I don't understand.  Don't you feel better now?”  

 

Against her better judgement, Tracer reached out to hold her hand, but her fingertips only grazed Widowmaker’s cool skin as she wrenched her hand away.  

 

“No!” she cried, fury clouding her amber eyes.  With a frustrated sigh, she laid back on her pillows and stared blankly at the ceiling.  “Before, I felt  _ nothing. _  Only killing made me feel alive.  Anger, resentment, grief… none of these things plagued me, then.  Now I grieve for the husband I killed, and--”

 

“That wasn't you!  It was Talon’s fault!”

 

“Why do you  _ care? _ ”  Her wrath came joined with confusion this time.  “When has Overwatch  _ ever  _ cared?”

 

“I-- Wait, what?”  It was Tracer’s turn to be angry.  “Do you know how many people we lost to Talon, searching for you?”

 

“Before that,” she snarled.  “There was no place, here or anywhere, for Gérard’s wife.  I held no small amount of resentment toward your organization because of it.  They saw me as a helpless woman, a burden and a liability.  In the end, they were right: Talon used me to kill one of Overwatch’s best agents.”  She turned back to Tracer with a blank expression.  “If I hadn't been here, he may never have died.  I cursed the world for taking my husband from me as he was off saving that very same world.  I was selfish, and angry, and if that was not the case, perhaps it would not have been so easy for Talon to turn me against him.”  By the time she had finished speaking, her voice had become hardly more than a whisper.

 

“It’s Talon’s fault.  They're the ones who used you, who truly wanted him dead.”  Tracer paused, considering her next words carefully.  “I’m… sorry for your loss.  ‘Cause it - he - was  _ your _ loss, more than Overwatch or anyone else’s.  I don't think it's fair, either, that they - well,  _ we  _ \- took so much time away from him, and away from you, and… I'm sorry for that, too.”

 

“My grief is pointless. He is gone, beyond even Mercy’s help.”  Staring up at the ceiling as she lay still on a hospital bed, her words - void of any inflection - rang a bit hollow.  “But… I do appreciate your seemingly genuine apology.”

 

“You've got a funny way of saying ‘thanks’, Widowmaker.”

 

She snorted in reply, and was silent for a moment.  “Do not call me that.”  Tracer opened her mouth to protest, but didn't get the chance.  “Talon turned me into their weapon, a mere tool.  And I'm sure they thought the name was very clever.  But I am not Widowmaker.  And no longer am I ‘Gérard’s wife’, as I've heard from so many Overwatch agents, or even Madame Lacroix.”

 

“Then…?”

 

It was the first time that Tracer saw her smile reach her eyes.  “Amélie.  Nothing more.”

 

She gave a mock salute.  “Amélie.  Gotcha.”  The other woman rolled her eyes, but her smile did not waver.

 

They sat in silence for awhile, each unwilling to disturb the pleasant mood.  

 

“I enjoyed it, you know.”

 

Tracer raised an eyebrow.  “Enjoyed what, exactly?”

 

“At the moment of a kill, I felt alive, as I said.  But more than that, I enjoyed the skill I had.  Overwatch feared me for my ability - the same woman whose weakness they had previously lamented.  It felt good to be dangerous, lethal in my own right.”  She frowned, much to Tracer’s dismay.  “Though I suppose it is Talon’s work, not mine, that gave me these skills.”

 

“Makes sense that you feel that way.  But if you weren't capable of it in the first place, you'd never have made it to where you are now.  It's not  _ all  _ Talon.” 

 

“It hardly matters. Now I've become deadlier, in a way that Talon could never anticipate.”

 

“What's that?”  

 

“Anger.”  She was grinning now - there was something alluring about that smile, dangerous and beautiful, like poison in a gilded locket.  “My grudge against Overwatch is a ghost of what it once was, certainly not worth pursuing.”  She gave a lazy sigh, as if discussing the weather.  “Especially considering the fact that I already defeated Overwatch’s most talented sniper.”

 

_ Damn it.   _ That would complicate things.  Tracer tried to hide her surprise as Amélie continued.  

 

“Talon tortured me, forced me to kill the man I loved, and used me as a weapon.  They gave me marvelous talents, as well… in turn, I shall give them a thorough demonstration of my skills.”

 

“Seems to me like we’re on the same side, then.”

 

Amélie snorted and turned away from her.  “I suppose you'd like it if I joined Overwatch, wouldn't you?”  Tracer was thankful that she couldn't see the blush rising to her cheeks.  “Only someone as foolishly optimistic as you would make such a ludicrous suggestion.”

 

“Yes, well, my suggestions seem to have worked just fine so far!”  The other woman’s silence did nothing to deter her.  “The world’s crumbling again, and we need all the help we can get.  You can still put your skills to good use.  And Overwatch  _ can't  _ refuse someone as talented as you.  The doc will explain all the technical bits about what Talon did, don't worry.  Everyone listens to her.  Of course, if you even  _ want _ to join.”

 

Amélie turned back around, shaking her head incredulously.  “If you think you can convince them, you're welcome to try.  Annihilating Talon will be easier with help, and I'm sure I'm not the only one who seeks revenge.”

 

“Thank you!”  Tracer’s face lit up as if someone had given her a gift - as if she hadn't just been given the Herculean task of convincing Overwatch to let a Talon agent join them.

 

“You're very strange, Lena,” said Amélie with a soft smile, clearly amused at how flustered Tracer became.  “Then again,” she muttered to herself, “it seems I'm always drawn to idealists.”

 

“Wait, what did you just say?”

 

“Nothing, chérie.  Nothing at all.”

 

They watched the sun make its sluggish climb over the horizon, and for a moment, there was nothing in the world but each other’s soft breaths and the warm glow of dawn.


End file.
